


Power of a Dalish Curse

by deepthoughtsay42



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Gen, Spoilers, probably alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepthoughtsay42/pseuds/deepthoughtsay42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas was looking forward to a quiet night reading, but when he gets invited to a game of Wicked Grace with the Inquisitor, he can't refuse.  But Solas and alcohol do not mix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power of a Dalish Curse

**Author's Note:**

> (takes place before any fade-tongue) Solas PoV

Solas sat in his overly large chair, skimming over one of the books the ambassador had acquired for him. It wasn't one he had asked for, but was one of the modern times' authoritative works on the Fade. He had nearly snorted when he opened it. It was ridiculous how little people knew. But part of his job was to blend in. He had to at least know what people thought about everything so that he knew how to correct them.

"Hey, Chuckles. You saving the world right now?"

Solas looked up from the miserable tome, smirking at Varric. "Not immediately, no. What would you like?"

The dwarf grinned and leaned against the wall. "There's a huge game of Wicked Grace about to happen. The Inquisitor wants everyone to show up. She told me to come get you, and not to come back if you wouldn't come. C'mon." With that, Varric gestured towards the hallway and pushed himself off the wall.

"I am honored, child of the Stone, but - "

"Chuckles. Don't deprive me of my favorite game, and with the Inquisitor, no less."

Solas stared down Varric, who was the epitome of disapproval. He had to admit that seeing the Inquisitor drunk would be fascinating, and he could use a moment to relax. He would just have to be careful. He couldn't afford to slip, or worse, brag. "Fine," he acquiesced, "I'll play."

Varric grinned and together they walked to the tavern. The table next to the bartender was where the Inquisitor and others from their team sat. The Inquisitor had already had a few drinks, apparently, from the way she swayed in her seat. Her face brightened when she saw him.

"Solas! I'm so glad you came!" She jumped up and hugged him tightly. Solas closed his eyes to disguise his happiness at the hug. He couldn't afford to let anyone know his feelings for her. It was bad enough that he had noticed them himself. 

"I could hardly refuse," Solas answered, smiling down at her unfocused eyes. Varric snorted and nudged the Inquisitor back towards her seat. Solas took a seat, and found himself looking directly at Sera.

"No elfy shit," she slurred. "Promise you won't go all elfy."

Solas sighed. Sera served as a permanent reminder to him of everything that had gone wrong. She rejected all that was in her nature, and found more kinship with the humans than with her own kind. "I can do no such thing, since I am, as you may have noticed, an elf."

Sera muttered some curses under her breath and made the Inquisitor switch seats with her. The Inquisitor looked all too happy to oblige. Solas tried not to think of the motivations behind her beaming smile, or of the way it made his heart beat faster. 

"Now, hold on one minute!" cried Blackwall. Solas turned to the source of the noise, he found Blackwall's finger pointed directly at him. "Did I tell you all about the night I taught Solas diamondback, and then he went and beggared me?! I had to use a bucket to cover my bits!" Solas grinned as he remembered, and everyone else roared with laughter. "I'm not just reminiscing; I think our friend here needs to be drunk before we play!"

"That's entirely unnecessary!" Solas protested against everyone else's laughter. Sera mumbled something about elfiness and shutting him up, and Solas had to admit to himself that to be around her would necessitate a drink or two. He just had to be careful. He had a cover to maintain.

"Hear hear, Blackwall!" Lavellan yelled. "Bull, would you share some of your maraas-lok with Solas?"

"No problem, Boss. Surprised you remembered its name, though, when you forgot your own name not ten minutes ago." Iron Bull had handed Solas a tankard of some vile-smelling liquid, and Solas opened his mouth to protest again. 

"Hey, no one calls me Lavellan back home!" the Inquisitor argued. Then she turned to face Solas and smiled so sweetly that he felt his heart would burst. "Solas, drink up. We're not starting until you're on your third cup."

A gulp of the maraas-lok burned down his throat, causing him to choke and sputter disbelief that it was intended to be imbibed. Nothing in his thousands of years of life had ever been so disgusting. He looked at the Inquisitor pleadingly; he'd much rather drink the ale the tavern had. She smiled again and glanced at his cup. Solas sighed and quickly downed the rest of it. He was handed another cup, and down that as well. It didn’t burn as much the second time. He wondered if any alcohol would ever burn his throat again.

"Fill it up, Bull, and then we'll begin," commanded the mighty Inquisitor, slurring at the qunari's name. Iron Bull did as he was told, putting much more in the cup this time. Solas believed his head already felt lighter, which did not bode well for how the night would end. 

 

"Inquisitor, darling, that's the third drink you've knocked over," Solas heard Dorian say much later. He had been doing well, winning more hands than he lost, but Iron Bull was the one taking everyone's money. The Inquisitor looked surprised to see her ale spilling off the table next to her. "I think you should call it a night," Dorian continued. 

The Inquisitor shook her head wildly, almost spilling Sera's drink in the process. "No, no...I'm still okay..." she said slowly. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said evenly, "I am perfectly fine."

Solas laughed at her. "Inquisitor, if you don't retire now, you'll be unable to remove yourself from that chair." He meant that: not only would she be unable to walk, but her chair was probably so covered in ale by now that she would simply be stuck to it.

The Inquisitor leaned back against her chair, trying to frown at Solas. "You're not Mr. Sober-pants yourself," she argued sternly, but the glint in her eye showed she was teasing him. He had to admit she wasn't too wrong; he hardly noticed her swaying now. All he could see about her was the pink of her cheeks and the shine in her eyes. And how soft her lips looked. No, he couldn't. He didn't see that.

"Inquisitor, I must insist," Dorian said. He nodded at Iron Bull, who nodded back. Iron Bull bent down and grasped the Inquisitor behind her knees and mid-back and lifted. The Inquisitor wriggled and protested the indignity, but Iron Bull held her all the tighter. "It would not do for our Inquisitor to be sick in front of her faithful followers," Dorian added, and Solas smirked.

"Solas, you...you stop that. Don't you...you laugh at me. I hereby lay a Dalshish curse on you!" the Inquisitor announced dramatically. Solas laughed, surprised at the amount of slurring she was doing. He knew she was drunk, he had just...forgot. Sort of. How much had he had to drink?

"Say good night, Boss," Iron Bull crooned in her ear, then whispered something he couldn't hear. She smiled and stopped struggling against Iron Bull and became limp in his arms. Solas hoped that it was not the sort of limp that Iron Bull would think implied permission to do what he did to the serving girls. Iron Bull then carried the Inquisitor out of the tavern, though she continued to look at Solas with a suggestive smile, and Solas had to focus back on his companions around the table. He would beat them at this game. He would show them that he was superior to them. Especially Sera. Maybe that would make her rethink her position on elves. Probably not, though.

"Say goodnight to your lady elf love; no future elves coming from you tonight!" Sera cackled. Solas didn't even deign to look at her. He couldn't. If he did, he would just yell at her all the things she didn't know. He couldn't do that. That would reveal too many things, and...too many problems. Too many questions, too many everything. Solas wondered when he had started lumping the entire elven history in as "everything". Wait. Did she call Lavellan his love? How did she know? 

"Solas, do you raise or not?"

 

Iron Bull returned and refilled Solas' glass. He felt much more comfortable drinking now that the Inquisitor was gone. Not only was she the most likely to guess his secret, but he was also most likely to announce his love for her in her presence. Although he supposed the alcohol could also be making him feel more comfortable drinking. It didn’t matter. He just had to concentrate on the game. Since she had left, he was able to concentrate much better; a fact that was not lost on his companions.

"I should bring the Inquisitor back; you spent more time before she left undressing her with your eyes than guessing my cards," Blackwall muttered. 

Solas grinned despite himself. The Inquisitor had unbuttoned four buttons at some point, and Solas couldn't help occasionally admiring the small cleft of her cleavage. She had noticed, of course, which had made her smile and then consequently knock over another tankard of ale in her attempt to attract his attention further. No, it was just a coincidence that she had leaned toward him over the table; she had not done it deliberately. And he had not noticed her accidental table lean. 

"If Lavellan asked, I would be in her bed in a second," Iron Bull said, sounding positively lustful. "She insisted on changing in front of me, and she is… _well_ ," he added. Solas tried to ignore Iron Bull's tone. It was surely meant to rile him after Blackwall’s comment. Unless Iron Bull was as drunk as he was and had started to imagine her in his mind’s eye.

"She hasn't asked you?" Sera asked, sounding as intrigued as someone could with one eye closed and the other only half-open. "I was sure she would."

Iron Bull shook his head. “Nobody rides the Bull without consent, which she can’t give drunk.” Solas’ respect for the qunari increased greatly.

“Whatever,” mumbled Sera, who had likely already forgotten what he was talking about. “Elf-lord, why are you so…not drunk.” She was not even coherent enough to make the phrase sound like a question. Solas knew if he laughed at her, he would likely find some terrible thing happening to him tomorrow. She couldn’t remember conversations, but she always remembered personal insults.

“I happen to hold my alcohol better than you, it would seem,” he replied calmly, hoping he wasn’t stumbling over his words. 

“What a pissing pile of shite!” Sera yelled, far too loudly for the conversation they were having. Her eyes were both open now, and glaring at him. “I’ve had five of Bull’s mrass-y stuff, while you sat there and dreamt about bumping bits with Quizzy.” She stopped and thought deeply for a moment. Suddenly her eyes focused on him and she grinned. “Tell you what, elfy goodness. You down a full cup of Bull’s stuff, and I won’t tell her how much you stare at her arse.”

“I do no such thing,” Solas lied. He did. Especially when she stopped to pick every single elfroot herself. The sight was breathtaking. No. It was not. He would not be so crass as to remember how she looked as she suddenly stopped right in front of him to bend over a plant.

“Oh really? That doesn’t explain the faraway look in your eyes and the pink flush crawling up your cheeks,” Dorian teased as he smiled smugly.

Solas knew that normally he could talk himself out of this, but the more he thought about her accusations, the more he flushed. “Fenedhis,” he cursed and he accepted the new tankard in front of him. He hadn't even seen it get there. He gulped at the drink until there was only air left in the cup and slammed it down. He couldn’t even taste it. That had to be a bad sign.

“All right, next hand,” Varric announced, eyes sparkling at the table around him. No doubt he was getting excellent inspiration for his writing.

 

The night was wearing down, but Solas was feeling beyond triumphant. He had taken all of Blackwall’s coin again, but unfortunately Blackwall quit before betting clothes. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Varric had politely excused himself from playing after losing half the coin he showed up with. Sera…well, Sera had passed out some time ago. The bartender, Cabot, just grumbled when he saw her under the table. He said it was a regular occurrence.

“I will have to withdraw,” declared Dorian, looking defeated. “I want to be able to afford breakfast tomorrow.” Dorian’s defeat only served to heighten Solas’ smugness. He had beaten them all. He had shown that ancient elvhen were still forces to be reckoned with.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Solas grinned as he took the last bit of money Dorian was willing to part with from the center of the table. 

“All right, just you and me. Would you be willing to raise the stakes?” Iron Bull asked. His legs were spread wide, and as he leaned toward Solas he rested his hands on his knees. “Make things a little more…interesting?”

Solas stilled himself, suddenly becoming wary. There was something about his smile that made him worried. He couldn’t figure out why, though. He was supposed to be careful, but… “What do you propose?” 

“Wondering, wary, wheeling in his seat, he was supposed to be careful, but the fire burned it away.”

“Cole, now is not the time.” 

“Spirit…kid…uhh, thing? Do you mind? Mind-reading is cheating,” Iron Bull said, looking worriedly at Cole. Cole simply smiled.

“I am here to see the Dalish curse. I will not mind-read.” Dalish curse? What Dalish curse? That would be utter nonsense; they weren’t advanced enough to figure out magic of that sort. Wait. It sounded familiar. When did he last hear about a Dalish curse?

“All righty, then,” Iron Bull said with a sly smile. “Now, Solas, if you want to make things more interesting, we’re going to do an all-or-nothing round. I win, I get the rest of the coin you have on you and you have to match me drink-for-drink for ten minutes. You win, you get the rest of my coin and I’ll pay for your current tab here.”

It was risky. He had gotten a lot of money, though it was reflecting light in his eyes quite often and made him want to be rid of it. Another part of his brain yelled at him for the thought. Fenedhis. He had forgotten the terms of the bet. It didn’t matter. He was the Dread Wolf, and he would overcome these mortals and their simple card game. He would be victorious once more.

“I accept.”

 

“Well, Bull?” Solas asked with a grin. His hand was so good. There was no way he could be beaten. The only way he could feel more proud was if he remembered what he would get after winning this game. Iron Bull showed his hand, and Solas almost frowned. Bull had a very good hand. Did it beat his?

Solas showed his hand in turn, hoping that the reactions of the people around him would help him remember. Varric took a sharp intake of breath. 

“Fuck,” Iron Bull said, but Solas noticed he didn’t look upset, just confused. “Varric, what do we do? What about the curse?”

Varric shrugged, “Well, shit. Guess it’ll have to be a drinking contest.” 

Solas wasn’t sure why they were having a drinking contest; hadn’t he won? Maybe they had tied. He couldn’t remember if that was possible in Wicked Grace. They had also mentioned a curse...was there a legend about a curse if you tied in Wicked Grace? “What are the rules?” he asked, trying to sound as confident as he had felt before the…tie? He was going to assume it was a tie. He was lost, but pushed away the confusion in his mind.

“You have to match what I drink, and how many I drink, in ten minutes. I start, then once I’m done, you go. If we’re even, we go again, if you beat me, you win. If you stop or get sick before my number of drinks, then you lose.”

Cole was assigned the role of timekeeper. He smiled widely as he told Iron Bull to begin. In the ten minutes time, Iron Bull had drank an impressive five tankards of ale. They had agreed beforehand not to play with maraas-lok, as that would just get them both killed. Iron Bull wiped his mouth as the time ended and began pouring ales out for Solas.

“When shall I begin?” he asked Cole. He didn’t remember the rules too well, but he kept repeating in his head: six. Six. He needed six. 

Cole handed him the tankard. “Time starts once you drink,” he said quietly. And Solas began. 

The first drink was easy. He still couldn’t really taste anything after the qunari alcohol, and he was determined. The second was just as easy. The third took the time of the first two combined, but only because Solas had forgotten was breathing without also chugging alcohol was like. He quickly recovered.

“Five minutes,” Cole announced. Solas focused on his breathing, which was very similar to like what he would do before entering the Fade. With that exercise, he drank two tankards very swiftly, and then again forgot how to breathe for the sixth. He had just finished it when Cole announced, “Time!”

Solas spun around with his arms flung wide, drunk on the victory and probably also the copious amounts of alcohol. He had had a lot to drink. Should the room be spinning? He had won something; maybe his magic was revealing itself to the mortals there. It wouldn’t be the first time the Dread Wolf showed off with his magic. “You never stood a chance, mortal! I am an elven GOD! Bow down to your better!”

Iron Bull, Blackwall, Dorian, and Varric burst into laughter. Solas stopped spinning, wondering why they were laughing so hard. It looked like they were laughing at him. He had no idea why.

“That wasn’t in our bet, so no way,” Iron Bull finally managed to say once they had all calmed down.

“What bet?” Solas asked, and the four of them burst into laughter once more. Solas was almost pleased when he stopped their laughter by vomiting at them.

 

“You’re kidding!” Lavellan cried the next afternoon, after recovering from her nausea. “He said that?!”

“I swear, then he forgot he even said it and got sick!” Varric helped her into a chair as she nearly fell with her uncontrollable laughter. Solas walked up to them, eyes narrowed. Partially because the laughter sounded hauntingly familiar, and partially because the light in Skyhold was still slightly too bright for him. Varric and Lavellan looked at him and laughed harder, both falling onto the floor holding their sides.

“What?” Solas asked, suddenly fearful of what he might have done the previous night. He did not remember much after Sera passed out. 

“Never doubt the power of a Dalish curse,” Lavellan said with a mischievous smile.

**Author's Note:**

> More than a little bit inspired by this comic: http://dreaming-of-ghosts.tumblr.com/post/108205610915/theres-a-reason-solas-didnt-show-up-for-the-last


End file.
